


Home

by IrreWilderer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Chair Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, NSFW, Papa!Solas, Smut, solas really wants to be a father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6150521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrreWilderer/pseuds/IrreWilderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan breaks the news that she’s pregnant. Solas’s plans to bring down the Veil cannot be held-off, but his desire to be a father can’t be denied, either. Post-Trespasser. Request fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

 

> Sometimes Solas felt as though he’d always been without a home. His feet were as sore as a vagrant’s soles, and there was a weight on his back like his body’d never known a bed. But while kicked-up dust settled over the heart, the word filled the mind with familiar images all the same.
> 
> Home, suggested off-hand, and there was a flicker of hearth-flame licking up his cheek, followed by some soft, sweet lullaby from a life-time ago. Rugs; he saw rugs, of reds and of blues, woven to tapestries with forgotten beasts.
> 
> There was child at play upon them, through the haze of reflection. Smiling, round features; joy so pure in innocence. But the vision soon smoked away, leaving Solas with a longing.
> 
> The idea of home had grown as fickle as any definition that changes with time. The man’d had safe-houses, where the slaves of the Evanuris sought safety, and he’d had the Fade, where he’d wandered and wept; but home was not only a refuge. Solas had known no affection for the place when in the middle of the crowds of the compounds. And in the Fade he felt mostly a stranger while keeping the company of moments. Perhaps that was why the guise of vagabond-apostate fit as well as the pelts and humbled pride: there was simply no roof that could provide his spirit with sanctuary. Home wasn’t just a head upon the pillow. Home was not where one kept their things.
> 
> Then one day while working in the field, to rally the elves and sunder the Veil, Solas was struck by what home was to him. And Solas had not been home in twenty-one days.
> 
> The answer was simplistic; poetic. It was what any man or woman would have said of their lover. And now, not for the first time, did Solas ache for becoming rooted in the world he must undo. So to partake of his bittersweet balm, the man started down his road, forking from the path of duty which was set in the midst of blood-filled ditches. This course was sweeter, lined by dew-wet alyssum, and through an Eluvian it led to her.
> 
> When he arrived, Ma'ven was crying.
> 
> “Ma’ven?” Solas breezed through the door and towards the bed. “What is it? Are you hurt?”
> 
> In the crumbling summer home that had once been Mythal’s, hiding in her room lit by one simple flame, sat Ma'ven. The woman’s gaze was cold; unfocused. Tears fell, but her sobs had become the exhausted sighs which follow hours of venting anguish and cursing gods.
> 
> “You’re back,” were her words – as soft as a whisper’s ghost. “I was not sure when to expect you. It’s good that you are back.”
> 
> Sitting on the bed, Solas felt her weight shift, but she favored trembling to touching him.
> 
> “My love, what has caused— “
> 
> "I am pregnant.”

Waking up from uthenera hadn’t been such a shock. Solas’s ears were flooded with a drum of foreboding that would have drowned out any storming cascade. Then his gaze followed suit and reacted naturally, seeking a glimpse of her belly. Hidden behind her hand, there was no sign to indicate the truth, but the man knew that Ma'ven would only be this distraught if she was certain.

A hundred words, apologies and oaths, sat stupid on his tongue as he reeled at her side. Ten minutes previous, Solas had been speaking with the generals of Fen'harel’s army as they discussed strategy on the west coast. He’d felt the old anxiety, hope, and pain that always accompanied progress towards severing the Veil. And now? There was no word or definition that fit what he was feeling. There was no colour adequate enough to paint the picture of his stupor.

“I am so sorry, Solas,” Ma'ven said wearily. “When I was sick, I thought it was the same as last time – when you left after Corypheus. I thought it just anxiety, or stress. I didn’t think this would…”

“Do not apologize,” Solas begged, although his tone was rather curt. “There is no reason for it.”

“But this is bad, is it not?”

He looked at her. He looked at her, and saw the candle colouring a glow across her cheeks that didn’t quite reach the deep lines at her eyes. Under her gaze there was a weight which looked heavier now that her burden was shared. Solas looked at her and saw only her, and this was the solitary means in which the man could save himself from being crushed by torment. There was an overwhelming need to pull the elfmaid close, but his body was building walls about him, in anticipation of how he must deal with this.

Twice Solas had run from her, following events that had been so fateful. A third time would be the last.

When night came, it made little difference to a room that was already so dark. They had said nothing more and gone to bed, slipping between the sheets and staying on opposite sides. A dreamless sleep he had never had, and this night was no break from habit. But when Solas awoke, he pushed away those tempting images. One life, no matter how new, could not doom his people further. This mistake couldn’t be another among the many that had buried the People.

 _Mistake. A mistake among many_. This mistake.

Solas gripped the blankets beneath and stifled his sorry weeping. When he slowly looked to his side, however, Ma'ven was not there to accidentally wake.

There wasn’t a bit of him that deserved the sight he was met with upon sitting up and searching. Beyond the end of the bed, in front of the tri-fold mirror, stood the woman dressed in a mantle of light. Scrutinizing her bare image, Ma'ven’s hand rested on her stomach in the single caress she’d been left since the Mark had burned away her left palm. She swayed slowly about, looking at every angle, her mind rummaged by thoughts Solas could not conceive.

The soft bed released him. The hard floor escorted him. Silently the man came behind her, but he would not touch her, or startle her – especially when there was penance due first.  
  
“Forgive me.”

She looked over her shoulder in surprise, having been too caught up to notice his reflection creeping. Then her body turned, fingers folded over her womb, and Ma'ven’s stare was hard and unyielding.

“Why?”

The woman had every right to anticipate the terrible, just as there was no reason to expect something honest. She had fallen in love with him in the innocence of ignorance, and it had wrought her a terrible road. A road which, uneven and winding, blistered her feet and led to Solas standing before her now.

“Do not hide it,” the man pleaded through a throat constricting with emotion.

“I’m not hiding it. I’m protecting it.”

Solas looked quickly into her eyes, turning from one orb of gold to the other in frantic measure. “Forgive me for that, vhenan. Forgive me for your fear.”

“I’ve been running scared since the day I met you,” Ma'ven said without malice. “I’m not sure I’ve that much forgiveness in me.”

And yet her hand fell away.

Solas was struck dumb. He went to his knees in weakness as the blood rushed from his legs toward his pounding breast. Her dress before, hand and shadows later, had all conspired to hide Ma'ven’s roundness like clouds over the moon’s elegance. But now the midnight hour shaded one long, inviting curve as the elfmaid appeared to be about four months pregnant.

The word, the idea, hit Solas anew. He was intoxicated beyond drink or drug. Protruding just enough, her belly hung high and beautifully obvious. Tentatively he touched, and its firmness was all those things he’d denied himself in day-dreams or while walking the Fade. The bump felt like time had stopped and time had quickened, but above all it felt like smooth skin stretched over promises of wriggling and wonder.

Such a promise burned Solas. His fingers flew back as though they’d touched flame. Given his bitter thoughts of earlier evening, he had no right to be near something so sweet.

“Forgive me,” the man pleaded again, looking up from the position of the supplicant.

With the saddest of smiles Ma'ven answered, “of course,” and her permission was a powerful thing: it sent a course of static through Solas’s stomach, as he now had leave to succumb. His grip smoothed up her legs, settled snuggly at her thighs, and kisses rained over the subtle bulge. Between each peck there came his plea, “forgive me,” as his lips trailed left to right.

He burned, and he let himself burn, as his skin blushed red with heat. A few tears fell. Solas let them fall like rain upon her fertile, pregnant hill.

He was expecting admonishment. Given his previous reaction, this overwhelming affection might have been a bit surprising. What Solas did not expect, however, was shaky breathing – a sure sign that her defences were crumbling. Looking up past her breasts, the man saw Ma'ven’s eyes wrenched shut and her bottom lip caught tight in her teeth. And there came her heavy breathing: anticipating and hopeful.

An inward smile presented in an outward slant of his brow. Solas mouthed across the woman’s womb once more, and smoothed up to caress her ass. Gasping sharply, moaning loud, Ma'ven looked down and huffed.

“Don’t you look so smug,” she cautioned in a poor attempt to seem cross.

“How can I not?” Still locking onto her stare, Solas nuzzled her stomach. “The view is beautiful. And you appear especially sensitive.”

“Every touch is…” The woman swallowed lust-laden assertions and sighed resolutely. “What does this mean? For your plans – for the world?”

“I do not know,” answered Solas sadly.

Soft, like fingers over the water, he skimmed at her skin with his nose, smelling the scent of her which was sweet and salty from floral oils and sweat.

“You’ll live so much longer. Than me, and her. Or him.”

It was meant to come as a suggestion; silver light stitching up metaphoric clouds. But the silver was steel, and it pierced Solas’s heart instead.

“I know,” he brooded.

Kisses came languid. Eventually Solas mouthed away his melancholy in tallied endearments that numbered beyond dozens. Then the golden calligraphy left by his lips wrote dreamy observations on her flesh.

“As the collector exhibits his acquisitions, I could show you memories I’ve found in the Fade. Of parents, their young, of immeasurable love, to which no decayed artifact can compare. Fretting new fathers with fears of inadequacy. Mothers whose discomforts, though great, are outshone by their hope for the future. Naming ceremonies from across continents; swaddling of satin or burlap. I have visited these moments many times. More often since meeting you. You… you cannot know how I’ve desired this, my heart.” For all his joy, Solas grimaced. “I’ve wanted this so long.”

Ma'ven scratched silky assurances across his crown.

“I know, Solas. No one would have avoided talking about children like you did unless they wanted them badly.” She took a sudden deep breath. “And you cannot know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Her answer came with a tug at his scalp. It served to underscore her meaning and sparked Solas’s curiosity. While one hand was left to luxuriate on the curve of her ass, the other snaked through Ma’ven’s thighs. Testing her cleft, Solas hissed against the curve of her stomach and felt his cock stir in the night air.

“You are wet already, vhenan. Near dripping.”

“I know!” The woman laughed deliriously and held harder at his crown for balance. “This last week I’ve been desperate. You can’t understand how much I’ve… ngh!”

Solas stroked slowly through her folds, pressing deeper every time, causing her body to knock into his. Slicking up to tease her other entrance, wandering fingers then returned with a wriggle to her womanhood.

“Been left craving?” Solas asked brazenly.

“Left?” Ma'ven choked out. Every word came at the cost of a whimper as the man continued to finger her. “Oh no, Solas. I may have one hand left, but it suits its purpose.”

A growl rumbled through his throat. Solas imagined her sprawled out while working tirelessly, hips bucking to the thought of him inside her. Or perhaps she’d tended to herself with her hips in the air, which Solas had watched her enjoy before. His hand slid further through her thighs, angling up, but did not push inside too deep. True to her admission of desperation, however, Ma'ven cried out wild all the same.

“Take me to bed,” she begged. “Creators, Solas, take me to bed, please…”

And although bed would leave him satisfied, Solas needed Ma'ven to come more than once. Gathering her nectar and coating the tightness between her cheeks, Solas tempted subtly with his deft fingertip. He rubbed and prodded, while breathing in heady draughts of her smoky scent. Ma'ven’s whole body vibrated at every suggestion of insertion, though Solas dipped no deeper than the length of his fingernail.

“You’ve been gone for weeks, Solas. Don’t tease!”

And could he not but concede to the woman who would give him so precious a gift? Pliant and ready, the woman took two fingers while praying in hymn-like profanities.

“Fenedhis, that’s… oh, gods, Elgar’nan…”

Plucking at her ring, Solas played her to a tune that forgot what he’d taught of false gods. There was something heady in the power to reduce her to such primal want, that he forgave the name she had called.

“Fuck, Solas, oh fuck—“

Twisting his digits inside, Solas stretched her out. A reward: she could scream that name all she liked.

But her running mouth was a sign that she was not quite driven to the point that she wanted. Ma’ven began to wriggle, to create her own friction, and Solas was only too happy to facilitate every whimper. Her muscles tightened and contracted, and Solas grinned, while the elfmaid fucked herself hard on his hand.

“More, please, I need it deeper. Solas, take me deeper, oh f…”

He did with some effort, and felt her damp womanhood become cradled in his palm. This unintended attention to her cunt made her gasp, while her filled entrance relaxed for more. Solas’s thumb reached back, circled at her clit, and within seconds Ma’ven was crushing his digits as she came around him in silence.

Upon taking his hand away, Solas made sure to steady her as she rocked with the weightlessness of bliss. A little giggle followed when the man brought her close to his chest.

“That was… well. Solas, that was—”

“The beginning,” Solas finished. Getting to his feet, he laid a kiss upon her forehead.

Then he left her side to fetch a chair of oak, which he stationed before the mirror. Sitting at the edge and leaning back, Solas admired Ma'ven’s gaze which was stuck on the sight of his cock.

“Come, vhenan.”

“I just did,” she smirked.

“And wouldn’t you like to again?”

Before he could appreciate the new contours of her body, or the familiar curves of her breasts in the moonlight, Ma'ven was starting to straddle him. His hands stilled her, directed her to turn, and then Solas tugged her back.

“Sit.”

Liquid warmth and silken steel squeezed Solas’s member. Supportive hands on her waist helped Ma'ven find a rhythm as the man watched the mirror image work. It was a slow dance, full of quivering steps and lingering glances, as she filled herself fully with each bounce.

She sighed in a symphony. There were dark dulcimers of determination to get him off, and shrill, high-pitched lutes that were concerned with her own soaked satisfaction. It was a music that she moved to, music that she made; whispered, wordless relief while her wetness laid a drum-beat. The sloshing of him in her, as she swallowed, gripped, was the sound of base perfection. And Solas hummed along, in his quiet, constant panting.

While the woman rolled and writhed, Solas reached around to measure her stomach’s growth. The newness to her shape excited him. He could see her stunted arm wrapped in cloth, with something of gold in the fabric. It was a change Ma'ven bore no grief, but a change that Solas had caused. And now there was something profound stirring within to see this new transformation to her physique. This expecting belly had Solas at fault again, but he was free of all guilt and was glad.

Never before had Solas believed his affections for the Inquisitor could end in purity, or goodness. He was a stain upon her; an evil that came of good intentions and desperate action. And now Solas had been proven wrong, again, for there was nothing but goodness and purity growing in the womb of his lover. Wife.

“Ma'ven,” Solas whined in her ear, watching their reflection’s passion.

“It’s good, Solas, it’s so…”

Ma'ven’s mask of disbelief at feeling so full and gratified left the man charmed, as usual. Her words that came after, however, all tenderness and love, caught his heart in a solid vice.

“Hold me tighter, emma lath. Please hold me.”

It caused him to move in a fury. Supporting her by her sides and thrusting up, Solas saw in the mirror something he could not watch for long or he’d find his end – and this was to last much longer. Ma'ven’s head had fallen back and she was silent, now at that point where words failed her. Solas could see his cock peeling in and out, moving quick through her lips. But more than that, better than that, he could see her abdomen at the centre of it all. Slightly pronounced, it moved as the mother began to moan anew while her hand crawled towards her clit.

Mother. Mother to my child.

Solas was spurred on, feeling he would break soon, but taking every second of pleasure before he stopped. And having forgotten her sensitive bud, Ma’ven’s fingers were at her entrance, feeling Solas sheath himself over and over again. Solas just about spent to the sight of his lover’s eyes so hypnotized by this action of him fucking her.

He had to stop. Every light, from the sleeping sun to the stars across his eyes, would blaze and rupture if he did not. The rumble of the gathering storm ebbed from his belly as he moved Ma'ven off of his lap.

“Why?” Her hands found his chest when they were standing, and brushed over the blush of freckles which she so often favored with kisses or compliments. “Weren’t you close?”

As an answer, Solas carried her to bed.

Their bed, where she slept every night, like the night they had laid together. Their bed where their baby had been conceived, and where she or he might be born. A bed whose sheets would entangle them as Solas took stock of her womb’s growth daily. A bed so soft and downy that Ma'ven purred when being placed upon it.

A purr: sweet, content, and meek. It was soon a roar as Solas lashed fervent through her walls.

“Oh, gods, Solas, I can’t. I– fuck, I’m going to…”

He licked and suckled her lips and cunt, circling hard through her petals. Then he lapped up what wetness he could, like a thirsting man needing of drink. Solas soon had her tossing about, whimpering in her bliss. She’d been more than primed for a second orgasm the moment he’d started tasting.

“I can’t feel my legs,” she said victoriously once her after-glow simmered to shivering relief.

Solas chuckled. “Would you like to pause? Do you need a moment?”

Pushing up onto her elbows, the woman looked at him sitting alongside her knees.

“You need release,” she reminded with a nod towards his forgotten digit slicked with precum.

“In fact, I am—“

But his cock was beyond pain with neglect. If she was offering, he would receive.

"Will you ride me?”

Solas’s back arched as Ma’ven lowered herself. She did so slow, questioning: cautious in case the changes to her body might make it uncomfortable. Satisfied and ready, she sought a pattern as she stroked up and down his prick. Every time her weight descended, every time she rested a second, Solas felt utterly consumed by the clenching around him, and a sweat broke out over his chest.

Solas gripped Ma’ven hard, his long fingers spread and touching as much as possible. Goading and guiding her pace, he urged her to hurry while considering his need which was painfully bright against his eyelids. A little faster, a little harder, and his end would be crashing down as that cresting sensation now swam from his shoulders to his balls.

“Are you almost there?”

Solas thrust up to meet her as he nodded helplessly, the muscles in his legs straining as he tensed. His cockhead was humming with constant attention while pounding deep inside. “Near. Yes– near.”

There was something round and slicked with moisture which his hand was now covering. She had taken his palm, placed it where she would; Ma’ven, and her clever ways. Solas’s fingers stroked, traced out the shape, and in a moan meant to entice Ma'ven sounded as though this was their most sensual moment yet. Solas choked as he stared at her womb, engorged by events such as this, and he was rooted to the rock of life and loving like thousands who had gone before.

He was only Solas now, not some rebel king. A husband who loved his wife utterly; who had every right to enjoy their marital bed, and every gorgeous, perfect repercussion as the couple became happy parents.

“I need you, Solas,” Ma'ven cried, and the man could feel her brushing him as she fumbled furious at her clit. “I’m going to… Creators, again, Solas, please, let me…”

His howl was sharp, short and ragged, as every last pearly drop ebbed from his body. Solas hadn’t expected it, despite the noticeable build pulling all sensation to his core. Then it washed over him, and kept washing, cleaning the dust from wandered roads off his soul.

Ma'ven came after, with Solas soft inside. She bent over and road it out with her brow on his chest.

The room around them had been so far away for so long. Solas had forgotten where they were as he’d forgotten who he was. He wasn’t anxious for the curtains to recall the fashion of the age from whence the house came. Long ago, so long, but it did not matter and he did not care. Silver crafted to motifs of dragons shaped the unlit hanging chandelier, but it was just a choice of taste, not something made deliberate in reverence to Mythal. The bed was as she would have it: fancy, elaborate; disheveled. And Ma’ven’s concerns were all he cared for.

Ma’ven, beside him, staring lost at the ceiling.

Laying his head upon her breast, Solas could hardly breathe, and wasn’t sure he’d ever been able to for all the emotion he felt in that moment. With his eyes settled on her womb it was too much. When her hand began brushing over his head it was not enough.

“What do we do now?”

“I do not know.”

Solas, of course, intended to watch the sunrise from his position, while considering nothing but the sounds of her sleeping.

“Suggestion?”

Surprised by her playful tone, Solas looked up and into her eyes.

“Of course.”

“I tie you to the bed. After that display, you’re never leaving it again.”

Chuckles tickled over her skin as Solas laid back down.

“Three times, was it not?”

“Mhmm. Very proud of you.”

Solas snorted. “As you should be.”

They both laughed with the giddiness of exhaustion. Giddiness turned to sighs. Sighing was soon sleepy breathing. But Solas was resolute, and would see the sunrise cast pink and hazy purple light over Ma’ven’s belly.

“Have you ever put any thought into what you would name a child?”

But Ma’ven had passed out, and could not answer Solas’s question.


End file.
